A sulking adult dwarf sits opposite you. He seems to be a traveler, maybe a mercenary, since the seat next to him is taken by a big sack and he is carrying his gear openly. He reeks of strong tobacco and oil. Whenever he moves, there is a mechanical tick.

A white, ragged wolf with patchy fur is looking at you at a distance. It has blue eyes with black irises. You notice that its feet do not touch the ground. Rather, it floats a few feet off the ground on charred stumps.